


The Greatest Day

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bipolar Disorder, EVENTUAL SMUT I PROMISE, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Humanstuck, I can't not write sadstuck I am sorry, Kinda, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Sadstuck, Smut, Song fic, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 13:49:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The body is basically a chemical factory. An additional drip of something here, a dash of something there; that is all that stops a person spinning irrevocably out of control. </p><p>Humanstuck AU, in which a twenty five year old Sollux struggles with Bipolar Disorder and Alcoholism, and Karkat has to make a tough decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chemical

**Author's Note:**

> So, I thought, "Shit, lets write some smut." 
> 
> But then, it's MY smut, so by law it must be preceded by rambling on mental illness and relationships. 
> 
> I'm very sorry.
> 
> The smut will occur in Chapter 4. Go there if you want to avoid the preamble.

 

 

The body is basically a chemical factory. An additional drip of something here, a dash of something there; that is all that stops a person spinning irrevocably out of control.

 

_EskalithLithobidLithonateDepakoteTegretolCarbatrolLamictalNeurotoninTopomax_

 

_Wash face. Brush teeth. Put the kettle on. Take pills. Start day._

 

You look at the face in the mirror. You don’t recognise it, but then, it’s been a long time since you did. You suppose that this is who you are today. Maybe if you wash it? Then shave the night stubble. That would help, you think.

 

_BupropinFluoxetineFluvoxamineParoxetineSertralineVenlafaxineMirtazapine_

 

_Today is the greatest day I’ve ever known._

 

You can hear the kettle whistling. The face isn’t any more familiar, but it’s clean and shaven. That’ll do, you suppose.

 

_Can’t live for tomorrow, tomorrow’s much too long._

 

You make a cup of coffee, black, two sugars. Stir twice clockwise. Twice anti clockwise. Tap the spoon twice on the edge of the mug. Drink. You glance at the clock hanging on the wall, above last year’s calendar. Its face is blurred.

 

_I’ll burn my eyes out..._

 

You spend a few minutes searching for your glasses. You find them on your face.

 

_...before I get out._

 

You clean the lenses on your shirt and replace the frames. Not much of an improvement. You think it reads 4.13. 4.13 am? You glance out the window, before a few sluggish neurons click into place. It’s winter. Either 4.13 of the clock and it will be dark out. You carry your coffee through to what might have been described as a living room in the flat advertisement, but is not much more than a sofa with prolapsed cushions up against one wall, an old TV with a large array of games consoles consuming the other.

 

_Today is the greatest..._

 

The TV. That’ll tell you what time it is. If the sign language lady is in the bottom of the screen performing her mystifying gyrations, it must be early morning. They don’t let her out during daytime programming. You wonder why. Are deaf people habitually nocturnal?  For a moment you entertain an inner vision of the midnight streets filled with the deaf, like vampires. A dyslexic’s zombie apocalypse. The thought causes a giggle to bubble up your throat like bile. Your voice sounds raspy. The room doesn’t smell of smoke, but an overflowing ashtray testifies your 22nd failure to give up smoking. You can’t remember why you gave up giving up this time.

 

_...burn my eyes out..._

 

You turn on the TV at the box. Oh. Apparently you left the Playstation on. Some shooter or another – they’re all the same nowadays; large American accents in combat boots, exploding large chunks of brown buildings in a brown city against a brown sky. You must have rage quitted, because the screen is blurred with the words **“YOU HAVE BEEN KILLED BY caligulasAquarium”** written across it like white fire. You stare at the words for five full seconds, stomach clenching spasmodically. You wonder for a moment if you’re going to be sick, but then the laugh emerges from your throat. You’re not sure what’s so funny, but you laugh and laugh until you’re bent double, wheezing and cursing the sudden shock of hot coffee running down your inner thigh.  

 

_...live for tomorrow, tomorrow’s much too long..._

 

_Caffine, nicotine, fluoxitine; ‘tines to pass the time._

 

Hacking coughs interrupted by the ghosts of giggles. You finally make your way back to the sofa and collapse onto it, breathing heavily. You feel out of breath, and your leg burns where the coffee has seeped through your jeans, which you realise you hadn’t taken off before going to bed. The pain feels far away, though, as if you’re only remembering something that happened. Your ankle knocks something over, the clang as it hits the floor uncomfortably loud in the silent room. Silent apart from the music coming from next door, anyway. Why the hell would they be playing that one verse over and over, at random intervals. Sometimes, you think you might be the only sane human being on the planet. What was it you were supposed to be doing?

 

_...before I get out..._

 

The sign language lady. Yes. Ascertain the time. You fish around between the sofa cushions and locate the remote, switching the channel to television.

 

“YOU’RE TEARING ME APART!”

 

The sudden sound actually throws you backwards into the sofa, as if you had been struck physically. Cursing, one hand over an ear to protect it from the dirge, you paw at the remote until the volume is no longer at the pain threshold. Sweet jesus, how loud were you playing that game last night? You wearily wonder if there will be another snooty note from the landlord slid under the door. James Dean mouths something on the screen. But she’s not there; the left hand corner is free of the sign language lady. So, it’s probably 4.13 in the evening. More like 4.30 now, actually.

 

_Today is..._

 

You lie on your back, looking at the weird brown marks on the celing.

 

_Today is..._

 

Was there something you were supposed to do today?

 

_Today is..._

 

Probably. Everyone wants Sollux to do something. Well, today Sollux is nursing his head, thank you.

 

_...the greatest day..._

 

Shut up...

 

_..._

 

_BEEP BOOP_

 

Arrg. You rub the sleep from your eyes, and shift. Something clangs from the sofa. Arrg.

 

BEEP BOOP

 

“Oh for fuckth thake...” you push yourself up from the sofa with a groan. The TV is showing the 5 o’clock news. Seems like three more people have been killed somewhere you don’t even want to begin trying to pronounce. On the end of the sofa, hidden under a cushion, the...

 

BEEP BOOP

 

...laptop is alerting you that you’ve got a message.  You pull it onto your lap, and look blearily at the screen. Blearily is right – you can’t even make out the text in your IM. You rub your eyes, and try to focus. Three lines of grey font. Oh.

 

Oh shit.

 

You glance down at your hand, the scrawl on it the only thing in your life that resembles a diary. _Sunday_ _– Avengers with KK + TZ 4.00 tickets in wallet._

 

Fuck. You are the shittiest person on the planet.

 

You try to focus on the screen, but everything is blurry. Your stomach feels like it’s full of lead, but your head feels like it might float away. Concentrating is difficult, like moving through water.

Your head hits the armrest of the sofa. Hand moves ponderously, shuts laptop on second try. Inhale. Exhale. Shut eyes. Wish to die.

 

 

 

The body is basically a chemical factory. One chemical out of place, or left out, or in too high a dose, can send a person crashing off the rails.

 

 

 

 

_Today is the greatest  
Day I’ve ever known.  
Can’t live for tomorrow,  
Tomorrow’s much too long.  
I’ll burn my eyes out  
Before I get out._

_Today is the..._

 

You find your phone under a pile of spent beer cans, and silence your ringtone before the second line plays again.  
“Hello?”  
“It’s me, Sol. Open the door.”

 


	2. Mineral

 

 

You are fucking _freezing._

 

The cold and you have never been good friends – the wind always manages to cut through your clothing despite the number of layers you wear, and it tears up your eyes so that you look out at the world through bleary slits.

 

You jig from foot to foot, glaring at your watch occasionally. Terezi leans against one of the pillars fronting the cineplex, chewing cherry flavoured bubblegum. The occasional _pop!_ as she blows a bubble only serves to remind you that she is not best pleased at your Sunday plans. You know she doesn’t like Sollux much, but the guy has been your best friend for nearly twenty years. You hoped a non confrontational outing together where neither had to talk to each other would be a good icebreaker. Unfortunately, your persistent cajoling to get her to concede to the film is withering in the face of Sollux awful timekeeping, just like you feel you are in the wind.  
 __

 _Pop!_ “He’s late.”   
“I know.”  
“He has the tickets.”  
“I _know._ ”  
 _Pop!_ “Maybe you should call him again.” You sigh, and pull your phone out of your pocket. Just once, you wish that Sollux could act like a normal, stable person. Just _once..._

 

_“Hi, you’ve reached Tholl’th phone. I obviouthly can’t anther right now. Leave a methage if you want, I’ll try and get back to you.” BEEP_

 

You groan and hang up, looking over at Terezi with a pathetic shrug. She continues chewing.  
“It’s fine, the adverts at the beginning will be on for ages.”  
 _Pop!  
_ “He _will_ be here. He promised.”  
“Like he promised not to drink at your birthday? We all know how _that_ promise played out.” Ouch, that one stung. You lower your eyes with guilt by association, but also with a flicker of annoyance. Okay, your 24 th was _not_ Sol’s finest hour, and it was annoying that you had to find a new local bar after your whole party received a lifetime ban, but... the truth was, she didn’t know Sollux like you did. She just saw the lisping, untidy, neurotic, unreliable collection of bad habits marinated in a dangerous mix of alcohol and whatever pill the doctor had prescribed this month. And, to be fair, that was mostly all there was to see. But it wasn’t all that was _there_. _You_ knew that, and if only you could get your girlfriend to understand, to acknowledge there was more to your best friend than was apparently obvious, your life would be one big glitter rainbow train to Fan-fucking-tastic Town.  As it was...  
“The film will have started by now.” You don’t meet her eye, and try calling again.

 

_“Hi, you’ve reached Tholl’th pho-”_

 

Crap.

 

“Let’s just give it up, Karkat. He’s not coming.”  
“Can we just give it ten more minutes?”  
“He’s half an hour late as it is.”

 

_“Hi, you’ve reached-”_

 

“Son of a bitch.” You jab at the phone buttons angrily. Terezi sighs, spits the gum from her mouth into a rubbish bin and walks over, slipping her arms around your waist.  
“Karkat, let’s go home. He’s probably forgotten. It’s just a movie.” You grimace and nod. But it isn’t just the movie, you think as you walk back to the car. It’s the fact he _promised to be here._ You thought that leaving him responsible for the tickets would be enough to make the bastard remember that he said he would do this _one thing_ for you. You redial and hold the phone to your ear, hoping against hope that _this time_ he’ll pick up, that he was driving, or somewhere without signal, that he’ll only be another five min-

 

_“Hi, you’ve r-”_

 

“FUCK!” Terezi winces at your outburst, and puts her hand over yours as you go to open the car door.  
“I’ll drive, babe. Your roadrage is scary.”

 

You call him all the way home.

 

“I am so sorry, I thought...” Terezi covers your mouth with her hand before you can get any further.  
“Its fine, I didn’t expect him to show up anyway.” She smiles, but you turn away, taking off your coat angrily. You’re not really angry at her, but you resent her scepticism.  If anyone is going to lay into Sollux this evening, it’s going to be you. You stomp through into the living room of your flat. It’s a lot less messy since Terezi moved in about a month ago, but you still flail about trying to locate your laptop under the piles of her sketches that have colonised the dining table. 

 

You fling yourself on the couch and curl up around your laptop. Terezi tries to cuddle up to you, but you mutter irritably and refuse to move, so in the end she sighs and turns on the television. The five o’clock news is showing, solemnly recounting deaths in far away countries, and the latest public scandal some politician or another has gotten into. You pay no attention, and log into your IM. You let out a long hiss, a strange mixture of relief and anger. twinArmageddons is online.

Your stomach knots up without you quite knowing why. But after all these years, you have developed something like a sixth sense when it comes to Sollux and his problems. Something’s wrong, you’re sure of it.

 

Oh thank fuck. Now you know the bastard is alive and at least able to type, your dread unravels in the pit of your stomach, unleashing the rage that had been brewing behind it. It pours out of you like water from behind floodgates.

 

 

And as fast as it came, the rage drains from you, leaving you feeling oddly empty. You stare at the screen, foreboding returning slowly. He should have flipped his lid at you, or at least insulted you. Something. Four letters and a number – the S key on his laptop is obviously still broken.

 

 

Shit. Panic grips your stomach; something _is_ wrong. You forget to turn off your rage induced capslock, and type out a final message.

 

 

You slam your laptop closed, putting it down on the sofa as you stand up. Terezi raises an eyebrow.  
“Where are you going?”  
“Sollux’s.” You’re already across the room and pulling on your shoes. “I think he’s gone bad again, I have to go and see if he’s ok...” You have your back to her, but you can _feel_ Terezi’s glare on the back of your neck. You stand up, one shoelace still untied, and turn to face her. She has her arms folded over her chest, blue-green eyes narrowed, and you clench your jaw. “What? I can’t just leave him if he needs help...”  
“Karkat!” You flinch at her tone, and realise you have never seen her so angry. “I hate to say this, but you are not qualified to give Sollux the help he needs.” Your mouth drops open as she goes on. “I know you care about him, he’s your friend, but if you really wanted the best for him you would have convinced him to get more... intensive help, go somewhere where there are people _trained_ to help people like him...”  
“The fuck do you mean ‘people like him’?” You realise your shouting, but a red mist has settled over your vision, rage and indignation choking your senses. “Sollux is NOT insane, Terezi!”  
“He’s not _well_ , Karkat!”  
“That’s why I’m going to see him!”  
“Call a doctor or something! _You_ don’t have to go personally!”  
“ _I want to!”_  
“ _Why?”_  
“Because...” You bite back on your first answer, which rage had nearly liberated from your tongue. Instead, you take a long breath and respond in a measured, cold tone.  
“Because he’s my best friend.” She throws her hands up in the air, and turns away.  
“Fine. Whatever. Do whatever you like. Don’t mind me.” She calls over her shoulder, and slams the bedroom door.

 

 

You arrive at the tower that houses Sollux’s apartment twenty minutes later. An insistent voice in the back of your brain has been raging at how fucking stupidly you handled that situation with Terezi, but you ignore it. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know Sollux like you do.

 

The lift is broken, as usual, so you run up five flights of stairs. Your lungs burn guiltily – you’ve not been to the gym for a few weeks. You hammer on the door, getting your breath back. No answer, fucking hell. You dig through your pockets for you phone and press your speed dial for Sollux (2, been so since you got your first ever mobile and 1 was your mother). You listen intently at the door, and you’re sure you can hear the strains of the Smashing Pumpkins filtering through the thin walls.

 

Pick up, you bastard, pick up...

 

Any second now, it’ll switch to answerphone. You wonder how much trouble you’ll be in if you have to break the door down...

 

“Hello?” The voice on the end of the phone is hoarse, and with the hint of confusion about it that you have come to know and dread. But all of the horrific scenarios that had been projecting their dark puppet shows across your eyeballs are banished in the flood of relief that comes from hearing your best friends voice.

 

“It’s me, Sol. Open the door.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may appear a little harsh on Terezi, or that I am hating on Terezi/Karkat. NOTHING COULD BE FURTHER FROM THE TRUTH. I needed a girlfriend in this scenario, and Terezi was the cannon choice. It... really doesn't represent her at all, nor was intended to. If you like, replace Terezi with Teresa x3


	3. Vegtable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Alcoholism and Suicide Attempts

 

There is a click on the other end of the line, and the phone goes dead. For a moment, you are worried he’s just hung up and you’ll have to break the door down after all, but thumps and muffled curses filter through from Sollux’s flat. After what seems like forever, you hear the lock scrape, and the door opens.

 

The first thought that bubbles up through your relief dizzy brain is; “Well, fuck me, the bastard’s shaved.” This, however, is the only positive thing that can be said about his appearance. He’d always been an ectomorph, But Sollux looks like he’s not eaten in years; His collarbones are painfully obvious in the soft circle of flesh revealed by the neck of his shirt, the one arm you can see looks incapable of taking the weight he’s putting on it as he leans on the door frame. But much more worrying than any of that, you realise with a sinking feeling, is the empty way your best friends eyes float in their sockets, not really seeing. A sniff of the air in the room is enough to confirm what you had been dreading. He’s been drinking again.

 

He blinks slowly and rubs his face, looking to you as if he’s dreaming with his eyes open. You bite back your anger and grab his shoulders, words coming out fast from panic.  
“Soll, look at me, ok?” His eyes flick to your jaw before wandering off again, and you growl. “Shit. How long have you been on the piss, Soll?” He mumbles something that sounds like “not sure” and you walk him backwards into the room. The smell of cigarettes and stale beer is overwhelming, and his ankle sends a nearly empty can skittering away into a corner, leaking old beer. His flat is a wreck; cans and bottles cover every surface, even encroaching onto his collection of video games and consoles. This confirms your suspicions that this is very serious – usually Sollux would take an acrobatic fucking pirouette off the handle if anyone put so much as a used tissue near his Xbox. You can’t see it, now, lost in a forest of cans.

 

You sit him on the sofa and make a decision. You can’t leave him here; the place is filthy and who knows how much more he has hidden away. Or what, for that matter – Sollux has always been ready to accompany his prescription medication with illegal accoutrements, anything to chase the demons from his head. But he always returns to alcohol like an old lover. And, you glance at him as his head lolls against the sofa cushion; whatever he _has_ been prescribed this time has certainly got a hate/love relationship with booze. He murmurs something that sounds like an order to leave, but you ignore him and dash into his bedroom. More empties in here, littered like bodies in a warzone. You pick up a backpack half hidden under bottles and wire, shake it empty and glance about with a futile hope that he might have some clean clothes. In the end, you grab anything that isn’t visibly filthy and ram it into the rucksack.

 

Sollux is where you left him, shaking a half empty beer can in a ponderous manner. You snarl, and knock it from his hand, sending stale beer flying over both of you. You slap him, cursing yourself for leaving him alone.   
“No! No more, Sol, do you fucking understand me? Do you?” He manages to focus his bleary eyes on your own, the delicate, mismatched circles of his irises looking out of place in the raw whites. He tries to frown, as if he only vaguely knows who you are, and you feel your heart wrench. You take his thin face in your hand, and speak slowly and clearly. “You are coming to stay with me, Sollux. We’re going to get you through this.” He tries to shake his head, but you grip his jaw and nod it up and down. When you let him go, he collapses sideways onto the sofa, eyes fixed on nothing.

 

The kitchen is just as bad as the other rooms. You curse, rummaging through draws until you discover the Tupperware box that Sollux keeps his medication in. You consider the chances that he’ll be coherent enough to tell you exactly what he’s taking at the moment, and think better of it. You shove the whole box into the bag.

 

Anything else, anything else? Keys, wallet, phone. You return to find him asleep on the sofa and groan. You set the bag down for a second and sit on your heels in front of his prone form. He’s wearing stained jeans, and you pat the pockets one at a time, thankfully finding the reassuring lump of his wallet and keyring. His phone is on the table, and you snatch it up and throw it into the backpack. You take a slip of paper from the table, and, after a frantic search for a pen, you write a small note to the landlord, saying that Sollux is going to be out of town for a week or so, at a friend’s wedding. You’ll stick it on the door as you leave, with a lump of blue tack liberated from the game posters tacked to the walls. You hope that’ll be enough.

 

You sling the backpack over your shoulder, and look down at your still sleeping friend. His mouth is twisted in something like pain or anger, but he is out cold. Cursing his name, you slide your arms under his body, and pick him up with little trouble. He stirs, and you murmur something soothing as you get him into a position where he can walk with an arm over your shoulder.

The door clicks shut behind you, and you lock it before applying the note. Then you look at stairs, all five flights, and wince. Why stairs? It’s always stairs.

 

 

From the time Sollux opened the door, the whole search took a little under fifteen minutes.    

 

 

The row you have with Terezi about your impromptu guest is short and ugly. In the end, she grabs a few things and leaves.   
“I’ll stay with Aradia for a few days. If that maniac is still here when I come back, you’d better have my stuff ready for me to pick up.”

 

 

The next morning, you end up watching the news sitting on the floor, with subtitles. Sollux may have been as skinny as a twig, but he was a good head taller than you, and you didn’t have the heart to move him from his tangle of covers on the sofa.

 

 

He woke up around midday. You tried to get some conversation out of him, but in the end you settled for him sorting through the plastic box of pills and holding up the right packet.

 

 

The second day was a little better. You managed to get him to eat some dry toast, and some soup later that evening. But he still wouldn’t talk any more than to confirm he understood things, and his eyes seemed to be looking through you.

 

 

You got a phone call from Terezi on the third night. In the end, you spent that evening packing her things into boxes, cursing.

 

 

The fourth day was, all at once, the most terrible and most wonderful of your entire life.

 

 

Terezi had been by that morning, and you had handed over her things without a word. You’d gone for a drive to clear your head, and then stopped off at the supermarket to pick up groceries. You fumble awkwardly, trying to unlock the door while holding bags, and enter your apartment. The wave of terror hits you as soon as you cross the threshold.

 

 

The front door leads directly into your living room, and you can see Sollux lying on the floor. Groceries tumble from the dropped bags and you run across the room, every move played in the slow-motion of panic. You reach his body, eyes lingering horribly on the pill cases strewn from the Tupperware box, the empty bottle of mouthwash, _mouthwash for fucks sake,_ still in his thin fingers. You check his pulse and breathing while a voice screams at you from the back of your head; _why the fuck did you leave him on his own?_ Your body reacts on automatic, and you pick the taller man up bodily. You haul his deadweight to the bathroom, open the lid of the toilet, slap his sharp cheekbones a few times, and then open his mouth and stick your fingers down his throat. He writhes in your grip, body reacting without any input from his mind, and he bites down hard on your fingers, hard enough to bruise and draw blood with a canine. You cry out, but keep them where they are, cursing and crying and screaming at him to _“throw up you motherfucking ASSHOLE! Dont you DARE die on me!”_ At last, his body convulses, and the first stream of horrible mint scented bile washes over your hand. You hold his head over the bowl and watch him empty his stomach, squeezing his gut if he looks like he’s about to stop. At last, after an eternity, he gives a few empty wretches and collapses onto his forearms, shaking. You spin him round and pull him into a hug that’s all the tighter from anger, your words mingling into one vast expletive as you ask why he could have been so fucking _stupid_ and what the _fuck_ did he think he was playing at? Sollux’s body shudders convulsively, breathing ragged, and only after you have exhausted every swearword you know do you realise he’s trying to talk. You relax your grip and grab his jaw, looking him straight in his mismatched eyes.   
“What did you say?” Sollux’s face is waxy, eyes red.  
“I thaid I’m thorry.” He whispers, breath laced with mint and bile. Your snarl incoherently at him, pounding a fist into his skinny chest.  
“Fuck sorry! If I hadn’t come home when I did...” And he laughs. The bastard can’t make much more than an amused wheeze, but you stare at the sad smile on his face in total bafflement.  
“I meant, I’m thorry I didn’t do a better job of it.” He whispers, eyes closing. You shake him bodily.  
“The FUCK do you mean by THAT?” You scream into his face, and see him wince. When he finally speaks, his voice seems to be coming from far away.   
“I’ve alwayth fucked thingth up for you, KK. My whole life. TZ left becauthe you brought me here. You lotht your firtht job becauthe of me. You’ve thpent your life running after me when I crath off the railth, and it’th not fair on you.” He opens his eyes, and tears are forming slowly on the bottom lids. “I’ve never been anything more than a total fuckup. We both know I’ll end up in the gutter, and I don’t want to drag you there with me. Betht if I wath to take a grathefull exit before I fuck your life over beyond repair.”   
This is the most words you’ve heard him speak since you brought him to your apartment. You look at him for a few seconds, then draw your hand back and give him a ringing slap across the face.  
“Don’t you EVER say anything so FUCKING STUPID to me again, Captor.” You snarl, face contorting in rage. “Do you think I would chase your sorry ass if I didn’t WANT to? If I didn’t think looking after you was the most FUCKING IMPORTANT THING IN MY LIFE? So don’t you DARE try to make that decision for me!” He narrows his eyes at you.  
“Why? What’s so important?” He raises a bony shoulder in a half shrug. “It’th jutht delaying the inevitable.” You shake him again, hoping you can transmit your thoughts physically.  
“That’s good enough! Delaying the inevitable one more day at a time is enough!”  
“Why?”  
“Because you’re my friend!” He’s going to make you say it.  
“Bullthit. Why do you care more about me than I do for myself?”  
“Because...”  
“Why? KK, tell me what’th tho important?”  
“BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU, YOU MASSIVE DOUCHEBAG!” You scream into his face, tears rolling from your own eyes now, “I’m in love with you and have been since we were kids! Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that enough, Sollux, is that finally ENOUGH FOR YOU?”

 

 

The words hang in the air, like a noose. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, that was the last of the preamble. The smut is coming. Be ready.


	4. Animal

Sollux looks at you for a long moment, mouth open. He shuts it, then opens it again as if to speak, but can’t find the words. After a few attempts he finally settles on one word.

“What?”

You don’t know exactly what it was that made you say it. Possibly anger at his disbelief that you could actually care about him, possibly the stomach knotting fear of losing him that had begun when he failed to show up for the movie, a lifetime ago.

 

Of course, you’d been very young when you first met Sollux. His family had moved into your neighbourhood when you were about 5 years old. But you remember that, even then, the quiet boy with different coloured eyes had fascinated you. The things that other children had found as cause to mock had been nothing but interesting to you, the way he couldn’t pronounce his S’s because he had been born with a cleft pallet – even today there was a tiny scar where the cupids bow of his top lip didn’t quite match; his heterochromia that gave him his startling eyes; his two fathers that let him play videogames and stay up far later than Karkat’s own father would. You had gone to the same school, and then followed him to college even though you would never admit it. You never knew what you wanted to do with your life, but Sollux seemed to have his planned out. You envied him, because he was brilliant – top grades in everything he did, never seemed to let any set back or cruel comment about his lisp or his dads pierce his armour.  He was perfect, but in the way diamonds are perfect, all sharp edges and chilly. When your own teenage hormones began to torment you with inner fantasies about your best friend that made your palms sweat and your stomach writhe with guilt and self disgust, he had never shown the slightest hint that he might have felt like that  about _anyone._  And then there was the car crash, which had killed one of his fathers and caused irreparable brain damage to the other. Sollux was about 17 when it had happened, and had withdrawn totally from you and the world. When he returned to college nearly a month later, he had changed.  He was still brilliant, but his diamond shine had been replaced with a glitter closer to that of a mirror that has been broken and put back together slightly wrong, directing the light in different ways. There had followed a few years of trouble with the police, illicit drinking, antisocial tendencies, which you had gone along with because to you he was still the best person in the whole world. But his moods became darker, his grades fell, and he finished education at 18, getting a job in a games store and moving out, his father having been taken into care. His drinking got worse when he was alone, and in the end you’d had to grow up and move on with your own life. Or so you had thought. A drunken phone call from the police station one night had sucked you right back into the fractured orbit of Sollux Captor, and even though it had consumed your own life you never for one moment resented the spin.

 

“You heard what I said.” You try to muster a little dignity into your own face, painfully aware at how red you turn when you cry. His beautiful, mismatched eyes bore into your own dark brown ones for a long moment, and all you can think about is how perfect they are- ill fitting and broken and perfect, just like all of him. He swallows, pronounced Adams apple slipping up and down his long throat.  
“You’re thitting me.” He says eventually, but without a trace of humour. You shake your head.  
“I shit you not.” You reply, just as seriously. “Soll, you’re the smart one. Don’t tell me you never realised.” He raises his eyebrows.  
“Actually, no. I just thought you were an overprotective athhole, but you _are_ an overprotective athhole.” Your stomach sinks, and you realise you had been wishing, _waiting_ for him to say that he had known all along, that it was mutual... but it only happens that way in movies. Real life was full of his puzzled face, and the harsh bathroom light that made him look skeletal and alien, and the unpleasant feeling of his vomit on your sleeve. Movies never had vomit in the love scenes, even if it _was_ minty.  
Your limbs feel like lead, your tongue feels sluggish.  
“What happens now?” You murmur thickly, shutting your eyes in preparation for his response. It could be nothing but awkward platitudes, and the rest of the day in separate rooms...    

 

You hear him shift, and the smell of mint is overwhelming as he leans towards you. Your eyes snap open as his lips brush against yours – rough and chapped and still tasting of bile and mouthwash and chemicals and _perfect_. His eyes open as he pulls back slightly, thin, trembling fingers settling lightly on your jaw, and he smiles.  
“What _can_ happen, Karkat?” He whispers, and your heart soars as you pursue him backwards, lips meeting with the ferocity of nearly ten years longing, bottled away but finally being released. You don’t let up before you are both breathing heavily, hands tangled in hair and clothing and _need._ He grins shyly as he gets his breath back.  
“You know,” he murmurs “I never thought my firtht kith with you would be in a bathroom covered in thick.”  You put your lips to his throat to cover your confusion, causing a light gasp that sends excitement off running its barefoot races up and down your spine.  
“You... you thought about it?” you whisper your disbelief into the soft skin of his neck, and a long hand slips under your shirt, thin fingers tracing your spine.  
“Of courthe, dumbath.” He tilts his head back as your lips trace his collar bone, and his voice is choked with emotion and arousal when he says; “You’re pretty much the motht important perthon in the world, to me.”  
The tone is enough that you don’t question it, or make him explain. Delivering a final kiss to his jaw, you take his hand wordlessly and depart from the bathroom. You open the door to what used to be yours and Terezi’s room, and his body is against yours before you can close it. He’s shaking, from arousal or weakness or the after-effects of his stupid actions before, you don’t know, but you walk backwards across the small room and sit down on the edge of the bed, gently pulling him down next to you. The room is dark with the curtains still drawn, and your fingers explore each other in the grey light, tracing ribs, hips, curves of muscle. When you break the kiss to take off your shirt, he makes a panicked noise, as if he was only really alive while you touched him. You fling the shirt somewhere into the dark and do the same with his own, and then he is lying on top of you, all bones sticking into you uncomfortably and frantic hands tugging at your hair and nothing has ever been more perfect than this moment. Your arousal strains at your jeans as his teeth graze your neck, and his tongue (split, he’d got it done at 18 and you’d nearly thrown up when he’d first wiggled the bifurcated muscle at you) skims over your shoulder and makes you bite down on a moan. His own excitement is apparent as he grinds down on your thigh; a needy murmur into your neck almost makes you laugh from the heady hilarity – this is Sollux, the man who had never shown interest in anyone of either gender. You place your hands on his knife-edge hips, urging him on and he brings his lips to yours. Thin hands with clever fingers trained by years of handling a controller ghost over your erection, but stop, and you only barely manage to turn your bleat of disappointment into a growl.  
“Tell me if thith ith too much...” he breaths, but you capture his lips fiercely again.  
“I’ve waited ten years for this.” You growl in the dark. “Don’t you dare think about stopping, you raging douche.” You feel his smile as he returns his mouth to the kiss, and feel five delicious points of pressure as he runs his fingers over your crotch. A sharp nip at your bottom lip reminds you to stop watching the fireworks of pleasure going off behind your eyes, and you slip a hand from where it had rested on the small of his back to return the touch. The throaty noise you are rewarded with makes your head spin, but a part of you, the part that is doomed to stay sensible despite the waves of longing drowning your brain, reminds you that Sollux is still pretty weak from lack of food and too many harmful chemicals. You put both hands on his hips and push gently, rolling him onto his back, and you straddle him. His fingers grasp the top button of your jeans, and you quickly undo them. You shuck them off along with your boxers and kick them off of the bed before returning to do the same to Sollux, sliding the clothing from under his raised hips, and then lower yourself onto him. The sensation of his naked form against yours threatens to rob you of any remaining thought, and you spend a moment just drinking in the sensation before hands tangle in your hair and he whispers your name in your ear, tone modulated with desperation and adoration and _need._  Your mouths meld as you shift so you can hold yourself off of him with one arm, and trace the other down his porcelain thin chest, over the trail of dark blond that begins below his navel. Your hand grasps both of your erections together, and Sollux’s low moan is mirrored in your own throat. His hand joins yours and you begin to work on yourselves, breath catching, small gasps and growls of pleasure filling your ears until you can’t distinguish which noises come from you and which from him. His rhythm is faster than your own, and mirroring it leaves you breathless and insensible. With every movement of your wrists working in tandem another wave of pleasure surges through you, and the heat that pools in your abdomen makes your mouth dry and your toes curl.  
“F-fuck, Soll...” you manage, “I’m...” and his lips press into your shoulder as he replies.  
“Yeah... me too...”  You increase your speed as the final wave threatens to break over you, and Sollux sinks his teeth into your shoulder with a cry, hips bucking franticly as he finishes. You follow suit near-instantly, moaning strings of jumbled nothings peppered with ‘ _fuck!’_ ’s that would have been stupidly embarrassing if you cared in the slightest.  

You lie in the dark, no sound but your ragged breathing for several seconds as the last ebbs of pleasure depart from your body. You roll onto your side with a ragged sigh, and Sollux turns to place his forehead against yours. You feel his shaking fingers rest on your hip, and savour the sensation a while before you trust your mouth to be capable of speech.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” You whisper, voice still shaking, and you are pleased to hear that his is in no more composed a state.  
“What wath I suppothed to say?” He smiles “”Hey, thorry for fucking up your life, KK, but I actually have thome theriouth feelingth for you, that cool?”” You nudge him in the ribs.      
“Would have been a start, asshole.” You say. He chuckles, and nuzzles his nose against yours.  

 

You lie there for a long while, contentment threatening to burst your chest wide open, fingertips tracing Sollux’s body with deliberate delicacy, as if he was something breakable and precious, which is true, you think. But the real world, with its vomit to clean and ex-girlfriends to placate comes crashing in, carried aloft on the tones of Billy Corgan from the pocket of Sollux’s discarded jeans.

 

_Today is the greatest day I’ve ever known..._

 

He mumbles a curse, and goes to sit up, but your arm around his waist suggests that he can miss this call.  
“It’ll be my landlord.” He murmurs sleepily as he curls his arms around you.  
“Fuck your landlord.” You reply, and he laughs, a sound from the times of Sollux with the future as bright as diamonds, before the pain tarnished his shine.  
“I’d rather not.” He sighs into your neck, and shuts his eyes.

 

Today, you will have to make appointments for blood tests to make sure Sollux’s fucking stupid stunt didn't do any serious damage, clean the bathroom, throw out broken eggs and spilt milk, all the parts of life the movies leave out. But for once, you agree with Sollux's awful music taste, a statement that was in polar opposite maybe an hour ago.

 

 _Today is the greatest day..._ The phone whines for the second time. You lie in the dark, listening to the breathing of your best friend and new lover.  
“Fuck right it is.” You whisper, and shut your eyes.

 

The future is sure to be full of complexities, but, for the first time ever, you know what you want to do with your life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is, Eevee's first Homesmut. Hope the depressing prelude was worth it, and that you enjoyed it ^-^;;


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